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Wednesday July 27

I woke up really early this morning; something to do with the wine and the fact the high window in the cabin had no curtains. It was five in the morning when the first rays of light woke me up. As I had a long way to go, I decided to get my ass in gear, and make an early start.

I had a long shower, brewed some coffee, and packed my things. Here’s the thing about Mustang’s: they’re not really designed for large luggage. I had to struggle to squeeze the case in and out of the trunk, and it was slowly ripping the interior trim apart. So, after the usual wrestling match with the trunk, I got the case in, and after a last check of the cabin, I was off.

Being so early; when I had nearly reached the junction with 101, I came round a corner, and there was a doe with her young fawn. I stopped, and watched: the deer was not fussed with me, and just looked at me, and carried on eating grass.

Apart from me, the only other traffic on the roads were the logging trucks that seemed to work 24/7. And they did not hang around; I kept to the speed limit. No really, and they were going faster: so I would pull onto the shoulder to let them pass. I stopped for gas and a bite to eat in Fork. Breakfast in Subway is the usual micro waved stuff that all fast food places sell. Beyond Fork, the mist and fog returned, but not really thick enough to slow me down much. Some miles further on, 101 swings south, and runs alongside the Pacific a while.

Due to the mist, I could see no further than a few yards of the ocean: I believe it is a little bigger than a few yards wide. The beach, all beaches in fact, was strewn with bleached tree trunks that had been swept down from the hills during storms. Small lazy waves washed up on the shallow, sandy beaches. The road ran long and straight at times for miles. Trees grew right to the roadside, making an impenetrable wall on either side, the road disappearing into the mist a mile or so distant. There were scattered villages along the road, I guess with more houses scattered in the wooded hills above the road.

80 miles later, the road passes through Aberdeen. It could be said that Aberdeen is not a pretty place; in fact it could be truthfully said that Aberdeen is an ugly place. Strip malls on both sides of the road: wood mills everywhere, and again, useless road signs. I had to go through the town twice to head out on the right road. I was now heading inland, as I wanted to see Mount Rainier a little closer. Along route 12, signs advised that there was a lookout with a scenic view. I stopped to take pictures. The view was of another logging plant, a wood chopping plant and a freight dock: scenic that aint! In the past week I have seen scenic and so I know about these things.

Route 12 turned into a 6 lane freeway, and things looked fine. Just out of the corner of my eye, I saw that it turned off the freeway. I made the turn in time, and I was back on a two lane road. In fact route 12 went right between Mount rainier and Mt St Helens, so, all I had to do is stay on it.

It does turn south onto I5 for about 30 miles, which makes for good time. Once inland, it warmed up, so I stopped at a gas station for coffee and to drop the roof. Mount Rainier loomed in the distant, apparently a lone mountain in a flat landscape. Although nearer the mountain, foothills did begin to rise.

Along route 12, a sign advertised a viewing point to Mt St Helens: I could not pass that up. In fact, it was some way off, but the crater could just be made out. Joining me there were a group of bikers, who turned out to be from Denmark. And they seemed to know a friend of mine who had moved to their town some years ago. Talk about a small world!

By now it was about one in the afternoon, and my thoughts began to turn to where to stay for the night. I turned off and followed signs for lodging. I ended up in a small town called Mineral. There were RV parks, and a cabin resort, but nothing that looked very good. I did find a really great looking B&B, but no one was home and no indication when they would be back. So, I pushed on, back onto 12, and then followed the signs to Rainier. We passed several small towns, all with lodging or motels, and all full.

My heart sank: where was I going to stay? As it turned out, this was the most popular way into Rainier, and so all the lodging would be full. I paid to get into the park, and followed signs to Paradise: sounded nice. The road wound its way out the mountain. Every few miles I would stop to take photographs. It really is a stunning place. Wide rivers wound through steep valleys. Well, narrow streams that would turn into raging torrents during storms or in the spring. Large rocks and boulders littered the rivers, which made for good photos. At several places, waterfalls tumble under the road, and giving more stunning photographs. However, being some 6,000 feet above sea level meant that getting back up to the car park required lots of huffing and puffing. And surprisingly, it was so hot. Last night I bought some sun block, and so I had to reapply it several times to prevent further burning.

It turned out that Paradise could not have been more misnamed had they tried; maybe it was once upon a time. But now, it’s a large car park with the usual touristy things like a restaurant with 360 degree views and a lodge. Anyway, the car park was full, not that I would want to stop there anyway. I just wanted to get away from the crowds.

Looking at the map, I saw another place called Sunrise, which was a few hundred feet higher than Paradise. A short drive down the mountain, there was a junction. And after that, not many other people; which was great. The road down the mountain was steep, but had great views back to the mountain. Several thousand feet further down the mountain, I turned left to follow the signs to Sunrise. After a few miles, I think the constant sunshine on my head must have begun to take its toll.

I was not feeling well; I was hot and needed some air conditioning. Quite why I did not just stop and put the roof up is anyone’s guess. I turned round, hoping to find a place back on route 12. The road descended more, and entered a valley, in which was a town. On the left, I saw a building which looked like it might be a motel. I was not sure as the building was apparently shy. I parked up, and inquired. Turns out they had rooms, and I thankfully checked in. I walked to the nearby gas station and bought a quart of orange juice and went to my room, cranked the air con up to max, and crashed out on the bed. The Mariners had followed me here, and were losing again.

Next to the motel is a bar; more of a roadhouse really. But the beer is cold, and the food good. I had a burger, which came with a bowl of beef broth, Bovril, to dip the burger in. Er, not thanks. I was having trouble with my cap. If I ate something that required chewing, anything that isn’t soup, it started to come out. I asked about dentists; nothing for 50 miles. I hoped it would wait until I got to Portland.

Walking out of the bar, it was just after sunset, the sun had turned the peak of Rainier into a deep purple, and was really quite beautiful. Anyway, back to the air con and sleep.

Thursday July 28 There are a few places on earth where the power and majesty of nature are apparent. And few places where geology can be seen in action. Mt St Helens is such a place. I have to admit, that this really was the one place I wanted to go to more than any other on this trip. After my experiences yesterday at Paradise with crowds, I saw that there were two viewing areas for the volcano: one on the west side was where all the visitors’ attractions were, and on the east side, there appeared nothing, just somewhere to view the volcano from, hopefully.I found out that the town I was staying in was called Packwood, and it was spread out along route 12.

I went west to the town of Randle, and headed down 39. I was worried: I was just about the only thing on the road. It seemed odd for a main road to the most famous volcano in America. The road soon climbed up the valley’s side, and headed into the woods. The road twisted and turned, but was fun to drive in the Mustang: it handled the corners very well .Soon, after about 20 miles, I came to the turn off to Windy Ridge, the view point. This road continued as much as the last one did; no views of the volcano could be seen.

After about 10 more miles, suddenly as the road turned to the right, on the left was the volcano. It was visible because I had came to what is known as the blast zone, where the eruption had stripped limbs from the trees and killed the trees at the same time. Nothing really prepares you for the sight of the volcano, and the sheer amount of devastation it caused. What is amazing is that St Helens is a small volcano, and most of the Cascade Range are either extinct or dormant volcanoes: most bigger than this.

Closer to the mountain, the trees had been flattened, and lay following the contours of the land. In-between, some small re-growth had begun, but not much. Closer still, the mountain looked like the gates of hell: its slopes devoid of vegetation, all just loose and crumbling ash. Gusts of wind whipped clouds of ash into the air, giving the impression of smoke.

However, every now and again, a genuine cloud of smoke would rise from the crater. At the end of the road, there was just a car back and a viewing area. Behind, a flight of steps led to a higher vantage point. I parked up, and headed up the steps. Before May 1980, this whole area had been densely forested: now, nothing stood. At the crest of the hill, all had been swept clear. In the volcanic ash that remained, trunks of trees could be seen buried where they lay. To the left of the ridge lay Spirit Lake: half its surface still covered with floating tree trunks. A small group of us had gathered at the summit to wonder at the moonlike landscape that was before us.

Back down in front of the car pack, there was a small amphitheatre, where a guide was about to give a lecture on what happened that May day 25 years before. Hearing her talk about the eruption, in front of the still smoking volcano very much brought her words to life. The last thing she showed us was before and after pictures taken from the very spot we were standing on. Before 1980, all there was to see was a solid wall of trees. The mountain just was not visible from here. And after, of course, is the view we have today.

I decided that I would go back to Mount Rainier, and go to Sunrise: so I climbed back in the car, and headed back the way I had came.

North of Packwood, I turned onto the main road, and was confronted by cyclists: hundreds of them. Seems like there was a charity event, where they were trying to cycle around Mount Rainier. A worthy cause no doubt. The main road to the Sunrise turn off is a steep hill, and long with it. I measured the climb at ten miles, and some were struggling very hard. The warning signs said there were 800 of them attempting the trip; now I did not see everyone, but I am sure I most of them. The road was narrow in places, and overtaking hazardous to say the least. However, other drivers, Americans presumably, thought nothing of going on the other side of the road to get passed.

They must see it as an affront for the cyclists to be on their road. The road to Sunrise was only ten miles long; and there were only a couple of lookouts, but it was not busy, and one of the lookouts had a sheer drop of over a thousand feet under it. At the top, there was the usual parking lot and lodge, but it was nowhere as crowded as Paradise was yesterday. The lot was surrounded by alpine meadows, full of tiny flowers. I decided not to stop, other than to take some pictures, and soon turned around. Back on the main road, cyclists were still peddling hard up the hill. In fact, they were all the way down the hill: it was clear that many of them would not finish the course; some would not make it to the top of that climb.

Back in the valley, I thought I would stay back in the motel in Packwood: it had everything I needed; air conditioning, a bed, a shower, and three bars in the town. That night I had the rarest steak I have ever had. I did eat it, but made the decision to order medium rare from now on. What was odd was the choice of vegetables with the steak: tinned green beans. A couple of good ol’ country boys came in and the waitress look worried; I think they made trouble last time they were in. But they had nachos and a cocktail, and left.